


Sweet Horror (Greed)

by Amymel86



Series: Nourish Me [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Dark!Jon, Demon!Jon, Dubious Consent, F/M, Halloween, Jonsa week, Modern AU, Soulmates, greed - Freeform, ish, what if your otp were soulmates... but one of them is an actual demon?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-30
Updated: 2018-10-30
Packaged: 2019-08-11 00:11:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16464971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amymel86/pseuds/Amymel86
Summary: He suckles, and he nips, all the while feeding on whatever energy it is that’s coming from her, nourishing him so deeply that he feels as though he’s both sated but wanting more.Addictive,he decides,whatever this is, it’s addictive.He doesn’t care. He’ll happily be an addict to…this.He wishes he knew exactly what it was, for it’s certainly not fear, fear is all he’s been surviving on for all these years.OR - what if your soulmate is anactualdemon?





	Sweet Horror (Greed)

**Author's Note:**

> A (late) entry for the first day of jonsa-week (prompt- Greed).
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING! demon!jon touches Sansa while she's asleep and completely unawares - please, if this would upset you in any way, don't read on.

He can’t remember how he came to be. All he knows is that he’s stuck somewhere between the here and the not-here. Jon recalls feeling weak in those early days, hunger causing a pain to rip through him. He’d appeared into someone’s home in the pitch of deepest night. Nights were always easiest for travelling around. He must’ve knocked something over because there was a call from upstairs. “Hello?” they said tentatively, “who’s there?!”

And then he smelt it, tasted it in the air. _Fear_.

Oh, how sweet and delicious it was. He drank it in as he stalked up the stairs, knocking a picture frame from the wall as he went. The deafening smash of the glass only served to intensify the delectable taste beckoning him on.

He’d followed his nose to a bedroom, shoving open the door so that it slammed against the wall. A man yelped wearing nothing but his boxer shorts. He held a baseball bat high, ready to take a swing. Jon wasn’t worried. The living cannot see him, and they cannot touch him unless he willed it. He walked forwards, the man’s wide frightened eyes never left the now empty open doorway. Jon stood close, so close he could see the beads of sweat on the man’s upper lip. He inhaled deeply, feeding from the delightful terror coming off the man in wave after delicious wave.

“I-I’ll call the cops!” he stammered, making Jon chuckle, low and dark, and right beside his ear. The man let out a pitiful sob and blindly swung his bat through the air without landing any kind of target. Jon could see the tiny downy hairs on the back of his neck and on his forearms stand to attention as his breath started going ragged. The atmosphere dropped in temperature but the grown man before him had been reduced to a sweaty scared little boy and Jon was _loving_ it. He leant forward and inhaled deeply again, feeling himself grow stronger and stronger with every taste of sweet horror.

And that is how he has been keeping himself going for decades now – feeding off the fear of the living. He supposes he must be some kind of demon entity, for if he were purely a spirit trapped in this veiled plane of existence, surely he would not feel the need to feed as he does?

No definitive answers are forthcoming however. It’s not as though you get given a handbook that explains mysteries beyond the realms of the living. Was he even alive to begin with? Some say that demon’s were fallen angels, perhaps he was too?

He’d thought about giving up on feeding. Might he just fade away into nothing? Would that be better than roaming the voids of night searching for terror and distress? Or causing it.

He tried to once. Had gone a terribly long time without tasting that gorgeous treacle sweet flavor of panic that he can induce in the living. He was weak, but wandering, his body still hanging on where his will had long ago given up. He’d wandered the wrong way, passing under an open window to a bedroom where a child was having a nightmare. He was unable to resist. Slumping down against the side of the house, his ass crushed the tulips in the flowerbed as he feasted on the fright pouring out of the window in long, deep gulps. He normally stayed away from children. Their fear was sweet, but there was a bitter after-taste that made him feel sickened. There was a wrongness to it that tainted the feed. Bloated him, left him nauseous. Jon wondered if even demons hold a moral compass?

Tonight, he found himself in the room of what appears to be a university student. A pretty one. She was still asleep in her bed, snuggled up in her lemon yellow blanket with little daisies dotted all over. _A dream of spring,_ Jon thought wryly as he took a step closer. Her room was covered in collages of photographs. Happy, smiling faces peered out at him as he contemplated getting his meal.

 _Nothing too traumatic,_ he decided, liking her pretty red hair flowing across her pillow. _Just enough to wake her and get her heartrate going. I’ll get a taste then I’ll leave her be._

The mattress dipped when his knee sunk into the plump of it, maneuvering himself to hover over her, arms either side of her frame. The woman sighed sleepily and turned her head. Jon reached down to move some of her silky hair that was obstructing his view if her face. Oh, but she is pretty. More than pretty, _beautiful_ Jon thinks as he counts the faint freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose.

There’s something oddly familiar about her too. He found her… _comforting_ to look at – a feeling he was not accustomed to.

Gently tracing the apple of her cheek with the pads of his fingertips, Jon lamented his hunger. She looked peaceful and he’d really rather not have to wake such a lovely creature. But he had not fed for over a fortnight and his energy was getting low.

He’ll hate himself for it later, he decides, for now, he needs to feed.

In a bit of a daze, weak from hunger, and hypnotized by the heady proximity of this particular meal, Jon finds himself fascinated by the steady rise and fall of her chest and the even ceaseless pulse at the base of her throat. He carefully lowers his head, softly dragging the tip of his nose along her collarbone and up her neck. She smells fresh, like lemonade or clean linen. The scent tugs at something within his gut. Jon inhales deeply, unable to stop the low pleased rumble from his chest.

She whimpers a bit – it’s a quiet, delicate noise, but my-my is that a delicious sound to Jon’s ears. He’s excited now, _knows_ that her fear will be a delicacy to savor. So he nuzzles into the crook of her neck, just a little as his hands find her own, lacing their fingers and pinning them to her pillow on either side of her head. _She’ll wake in a dreamy haze,_ he plans, _and panic when she can’t move her arms. That will be enough. I’ll be sated then._

There’s a building taste around her that’s thick and honeyed. Jon inhales deeply and is surprised to find it more intensely satisfying than he’s used to. He rears up to look down upon her and tilts his head in contemplation as he watches her sleep. She doesn’t look as though her dreams are troubling her, in fact she looks rather calm. It likes it… oddly enough.

Her hands twitch in his own and she squeezes him a little. Jon’s brow puzzles over how much he enjoyed the gesture. It had felt right. It had felt like he’d done this before.

She’s shifting under the covers now, her head turning into the softness of her pillow with a gentle moan.

“ _Fuck,”_ he mutters to himself before swooping down and inhaling that taste at the base of her neck. It’s like no fear he’s fed on before. In fact, he’s coming to think that it most likely isn’t _fear_ at all.

 _What on earth is it?_ He shudders in pure delight at the decadence of her flavor when he takes a particularly large lungful, letting out a little whimper of his own. There is not a word that describes how utterly delicious she is, and she’s not even awake yet, not even the smallest bit frightened. Jon is almost too far into his own indulgent pleasure to be overly perplexed by it.

Her legs are shifting beneath him again, rubbing together and it only serves to intensify the sweet spice coming off her in waves. Jon leans into her, licking and suckling at her collarbone instinctively as her back arches up into him. Her delicate hands squeeze his again, and when she sleepily sighs whilst nuzzling the side of her face into his hair, Jon’s eyes almost roll back into his head from the penetrating pleasure she’s feeding him with.

Groaning greedily, his mouth travels up the column of her neck, lapping at her like a cat would do with cream. She strains her head back, granting him even more access in her sleep. “Mmmm, yes,” she whispers up to the window at the head of her bed as Jon settles in a particularly appetizing patch of sensitive skin behind her earlobe.

He suckles, and he nips, all the while feeding on whatever energy it is that’s coming from her, nourishing him so deeply that he feels as though he’s both sated but wanting more. _Addictive,_ he decides, _whatever this is, it’s addictive._

He doesn’t care. He’ll happily be an addict to… _this_. He wishes he knew exactly what it was, for it’s certainly not fear, fear is all he’s been surviving on for all these years.

Burying his face in the citrussy mass of silken hair, Jon’s mouth hangs agape and he’s breathing heavily into the crook of her neck, feeling intoxicated as the taste intensifies even further.

But then, everything changes. His meal’s breathing and heartrate had been steadily accelerating, but now her breath has stopped as her heart continues thudding on. He can sense it – the shift. She’s starting to wake. Her taste changes instantly and he almost chokes on it. It’s sour and putrid. It’s like acid has been poured into his mouth and bile is bubbling up, coating the back of his throat.

 _This is her fear,_ he realizes. He _hates_ it. There is no nourishment for him here.

Rising up to look down upon her, he’s surprised to see her wide eyes follow his movement. The panic in them does not please him one bit. An acute pain stabs him where his heart should be, if he has one at all.

Jon tilts his head as he continues to hold her down, confused by how well her eyes seem to register him. She’s frozen, staring up at him, each of her ragged fearful breaths is sharp and jarring. That look of panic would normally feed Jon for days, but this, this is a horrid flavor on his tongue that makes him want to retch.

He lets go of her hands and backs away a little, still hugely confused by how her eyes are able to track him so accurately.

There’s a look of recognition on her face that seems to dilute the disgusting tang of fear, but confusion mixes with excitement and Jon’s so unused to dealing with more than one energy from the living at any one time that he finds it all rather disorienting.

“ _It’s you!”_ she says, sitting up and letting the daisy-covered blanket fall to her lap. “How did you find me? Who let you in?”

Jon’s mouth opens and then closes again. He doesn’t know what to think.

“I was just dreaming about you,” she smiles, glancing down coyly before her brow furrowed and she looked back up to him. “Seriously though, how did you get in? It’s the middle of the night… just because we’re soul-bound, it doesn’t give you carte blanche to be all creepy!”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm going to aim to get another one shot out of this universe for a different jonsa-week prompt. I've created a series for it named 'Nourish Me'. Please let me know if you enjoyed this one as that would definitely give me more 'oompf' to try and get another done!
> 
> Oh! And if anyone’s confused about how sansa knows that they’re soulmates - in this universe, your dreams always feature your soulmate. Jon doesn’t sleep so he didn’t know.


End file.
